


you already know

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Series: Hope's Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Canon Universe, M/M, Magic, Multi, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rivals to Lovers, Selfcest, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: Lorenz finds two unexpected visitors in his room.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Series: Hope's Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948084
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	you already know

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Max and their wonderful Sylvain - thank you so much for creating something so wonderful! These two bring so much joy into my life and I hope a little of it is conveyed here. 💕

Lorenz walks down the hall to let himself back into his room, and there's an odd shimmer in the air. Is he tired? Likely. Reason had been grueling today, and his hands are sore. He blinks, but the shimmer doesn't dissipate. He shakes his head and moves toward his bed. A nap before dinner, perhaps. He hears voices in his room before he opens the door, though. Odd. Is someone here to borrow a book, or…?

As he steps over the threshold, he feels like he steps through a haze. He really must be tired. Everything shifts and distorts, and he reaches for the door frame. When his vision clears he sees a lithe, graceful man sitting at— Lorenz’s desk? That’s odd.

 _Make yourself right at home then, why don’t you?_ he thinks, a little meanly. The man is impeccably well-dressed, though, and his long fall of hair is the precise shade of his own—a rarity, as Lorenz has observed. He’s a little vain about it, he’ll admit.

The other man is...Sylvain Gautier? What is Sylvain doing in his room? They’d bickered yesterday over lances, and just this morning Lorenz had one-upped Sylvain in a seminar in front of Seteth. It had been quite satisfying, actually.

But wait, this man is older, bigger. But he looks so much like Sylvain. Lorenz thinks he’s heard that Sylvain has a brother. Is this his brother? And why is he in Lorenz’s room with—who _is_ that, anyway?

Not-Sylvain steps close into the other man's space and settles between his knees. The violet-haired man tips his head back and smiles, and something rings familiar in Lorenz's brain. Is that _him?_ But that makes no sense. The shimmer...is this some kind of vision, or…? Lorenz grasps faintly at the door frame, wondering if he’s suffering some kind of hallucination.

And as not-Sylvain's mouth descends to capture not-Lorenz's lips, Lorenz blinks in horror. If that _is_ him, why in the hell is he being so—so intimate and affectionate with _Sylvain_ , of all people? He scowls, thinking about that very morning, when Sylvain’s snide comments during lance training had made Lorenz’s stomach knot and his shoulders tense. The kiss is lovely, though, there’s a tender passion to it that makes him feel guilty. For intruding. In his own room. 

“Excuse me, I don’t know who the two of you are, but this is _my room_ , and—”

The man sitting at his desk turns to him, and Lorenz’s mouth falls open. There’s really nothing like staring into your own face in the flesh. Well, a version of it anyway. Looking in a mirror just doesn’t even compare.

“Oh, dear, I’d honestly thought this was a dream. And here it is, actually happening.” The other man’s voice is soft and a little awe-struck, and he peers at Lorenz as though he were some kind of experiment, taking in his features, his hair, his clothing. He even plucks at the sleeve of Lorenz’s uniform with a distant, fond expression on his face, and Lorenz snatches it away, bewildered and cross.

“Yes, yes, this is just a little while before…” The man glances at Lorenz and stops himself. “Well, suffice it to say I do believe _we_ know what happens next.” He shoots a look at not-Sylvain and it’s...conspiratorial? Familiar? _Flirty?_ Lorenz is thoroughly confused. 

“Oh, there are so many things that will change for you. Not all of them are good.” His voice is sweet but sad, and there’s a steadiness that settles over his expression after a moment. He glances over his shoulder at the older version of Sylvain who'd come in with him. The teasing golden-brown eyes that Lorenz has only ever seen mock him are soulful toward this older self. Adoring. It makes Lorenz's chest do something that feels very strange, and he looks away. 

He's brought back by a gentle touch to his face, brushing aside a few stray strands of hair. “But some of them—some of them are wonderful. I promise.” He sends a soft smile at the redhead over his shoulder before turning back toward Lorenz again. Older Lorenz keeps the same expression on his face, and it stuns him, how happy and filled with tenderness it is.

Glinting on older Lorenz's finger, though, is a golden signet ring and Lorenz sobers instantly when he sees it. He knows full well that the only reason he'd be wearing that was if Conrad no longer was. It’s strange, to see the end of a story he doesn’t know the telling of.

The other two start talking to each other, Lorenz’s eyes darting back and forth.

“Is this— you told me about this.”

“I did.”

“But not a dream, though, huh.” The man he’s accepted is, apparently, Sylvain (in a few years?) reaches out to gently touch older Lorenz’s shoulder, and there's a softness in the gesture that makes Lorenz look away and scowl. “How in the world…? Why?”

“I still don’t know what happened.” His older self’s voice is humbled and filled with awe, and right as he looks back he catches violet eyes —his own eyes, and that is still unsettling — looking directly into Sylvain's with a trust that's palpable, and something else; Lorenz wants to call it love but the idea curdles when he thinks of the sardonic, unpleasant Sylvain he knows. 

Lorenz clears his throat. “I am _right here_ , you know. And this is _my room._ ” 

The two of them have the audacity to laugh at him. 

There are a few more cryptic words exchanged, and a few more huffy scolds from Lorenz, and that's the end of it. They don't even apologize for intruding, though Lorenz figures his older self does feel entitled to the space. (It makes him wonder why, though, when he really puzzles it out. Wouldn’t this be some future noble student’s room, here on the second floor? Why are they here, presumably reliving their student days?) Lorenz shoos the two odd guests out and goes to bed, the shimmer from the doorway dancing behind his eyelids.

His dreams are fitful and stressed, and when he starts to wake, he's aware of two things.

One, he's just had an unsettlingly graphic dream about his classmate: one in which all of Sylvain’s bragging about conquests and skills had been proven right and he’d reduced Lorenz to a quivering, gasping mess. He wrinkles his nose at the odd sensation that he's lost some sort of contest. 

Two, the lewd sounds and moans he'd thought were associated with the dream had continued, following him into wakefulness. He's confused until the bed jiggles, and his eyes fly open. 

He's not curled around his extra pillow, no. No, that would be _normal_ and _expected_. No, instead he's huddled around a warm body that presses deliciously against the hardness tenting the front of Lorenz's nightclothes. 

Good heavens, it's Gautier's naked, muscled ass. And the longer-haired, older version of Lorenz himself is naked as well, writhing in Sylvain's lap. The other two break their kiss, open-mouthed and gasping, to look down at him. Their faces register the same shock he feels. 

Lorenz scrambles back against the wall, wide-eyed, and sits up, fully awake, he _thinks_. He bites down on the side of his thumb nervously to test that theory. 

He watches a copy of his own face shift from eyes-closed pleasure to surprise to...what looks like the spark of an idea. Devious, matching eyes meet his own, and older Lorenz leans forward to trace a finger thoughtfully along Lorenz's jaw. He stops at the point of his chin and tips his face up, then waits.

"Show him, love." Sylvain's voice is low and raspy and shoots sharp through Lorenz's gut. “Show him how sexy you are.”

Sylvain—thank the goddess, this older version and _not_ the one who'd just laughed loudly at dinner as Lorenz _tried_ to explain the finer points of chivalry—stops his urging and closes his eyes as older Lorenz's long hair sweeps down across his face. It's blissful, and Lorenz is too lost in looking at it for a moment for his eyes to trail down to notice the rest of what's been happening _in his bed_.

To where they're...joined. _Oh_. The erection he'd woken up with throbs uncomfortably, and Lorenz shrinks back from contact even more. Much as he tries not to admit it to himself, Lorenz feels the loss of the muscled surface he'd _apparently_ been rutting against as much as the gentle touch under his chin. It’s as scandalous as it is horrifying, and he shifts, trying in vain to hide it with a folded-up leg.

There's a soft laugh then from his older self, and it isn't mocking at all, though it is broken by a tiny gasp spurred by a roll of Sylvain's hips. Older Lorenz taps Sylvain on the nose indulgently, scoldingly, then turns his attention back to Lorenz. 

"It's all right, you know. You don't have to, of course." Older Lorenz's voice is kind, if distractingly breathy. “But...keep in mind, I know everything you know, and—” he gasps and interrupts himself, quickly biting his own lip. “Sylvain, _please_ —

Older Lorenz smiles a gentle smile at him. “I know you want to.”

Sylvain moves again, and it’s hard to tell if he’s teasing or desperate. Maybe both. The thought is terrifying, and tantalizing, and…

“I know you’ve thought about it. Maybe not with this brute,” and here older Lorenz’s mouth curves in a gentle smile, teasing Sylvain again, and Sylvain just scoffs and grips older Lorenz’s hips a little harder.

Lorenz’s mind reels back to a silly discussion that some of the Deer had had over dinner, probably spurred by too many ales, over whether they’d be willing to be... _intimate_ with a copy of themselves. 

Lorenz had insisted that it would be improper somehow, though when pressed, he’d been unable to provide specifics. Perhaps that was because as soon as the thought was proposed, he was consumed with it. 

And this—this person, if it really is him, is encouragingly attractive. Though even Lorenz has enough humility to blush at this thought. 

And yet.

Maybe he should just go with it. It’s not like he’s likely to have another chance. And the desire in the violet eyes searching his matches the flush he feels creeping up his chest. He doesn’t try to wake himself up again. Why would he want to do that? 

As if reading his mind, maybe remembering this moment, his older self’s lips are curved in the smallest of smiles as they meet his own. A hand slides gently into his hair. Elegant, encouraging…practiced? It’s surprising and yet he’s barely hanging onto coherent thought about it, instead consumed with the sensations, with the warm tongue teasing at the seam of his lips. Lorenz opens his mouth, and the heat of the kiss kindles quickly. It's not quite like he imagined kissing himself would be; and yes, he has imagined it. It is unfamiliar but familiar at once, and he can't predict things as much as he'd like. That doesn't seem to be a problem for his older self, who grips Lorenz's shoulder and grinds down again in Sylvain's lap.

They break the kiss briefly, and Lorenz watches the flushed chest facing his own rise and fall in time with his own.

Sylvain pulls him close now, a question in his lifted eyebrows, and Lorenz just nods. Sylvain’s mouth meets his neck with a chuckle, and he hears a quiet murmur against his skin. 

“All this time, I thought you got this from a girl.”

Lorenz opens his mouth to ask, “Got what?” but the words are interrupted halfway through by a sharp sting of teeth at his neck, followed by the caress of tongue, and his ability to form words is lost somewhere in the faint shimmer that’s reappeared in the room.

Lorenz’s gasp is captured into the mouth at his own again, one that tastes vaguely of wine and a faint hint of what he thinks is cosmetics, and again he wonders why he’s trying to puzzle it out when pleasure feels better even than logic. Another amusing, bewildering thought.

Long, cool fingers tease at his sides and trail lower, and Lorenz sits up on his knees to get closer. If he’s in, he’s in, and he reaches out a tentative hand to run his own fingertips over older Lorenz’s collarbone. He grows more muscle someday, apparently, and that’s not unattractive. 

In response to older Lorenz's questing hand and Sylvain's increasingly insistent grip on his shoulder, Lorenz shuffles out of his nightclothes until he's as naked as the other two. He tries not to look too closely at the scars littering his older self's torso; it's worrisome and feels almost like cheating, but he can't help but notice the large, thick one down his right side. It looks old, but it looks deep as well. He looks away, and finds his gaze met again by eyes that mirror his own.

"They are all worth it." His older self is solemn, but as resolute as he can be, a deep pink flush staining his chest. "Especially that one."

"I don't doubt it," is his amazed response, and then he shivers. Sylvain's expression is unreadable for a moment, but the gentleness in the way he traces his hands over older Lorenz's scars makes Lorenz's throat tighten.

His older self starts to move again, and Sylvain's answering moan vibrates against his neck. They sweep him along in their passion, and before long, Older Lorenz is ravaging his mouth. Lorenz is surprised by a hoarse question at his ear. 

"Can I touch you, sweetheart?"

Lorenz is confused for a moment; Sylvain is already touching him. He's got an arm around him and has been...

Oh, he means…

It's strange, such a request coming from him. Lorenz knows the other man is handsome; he _has_ eyes. But they squabble and bicker constantly; this tenderness, the clear desire from Sylvain that's spanned however-long hence is surprising and he's suspicious of it. 

Lance-calloused fingers (do his own feel like this, he wonders?) wrap his length in a warm grip, and Sylvain makes a little sound and pulls him closer.

He's glad he's no longer wearing his nightclothes, because the eagerness makes his cock throb and leak. When Sylvain wraps his fingers around and presses his thumb into the slit, Lorenz inhales a quick breath and his muscles jump. Sylvain's hands are more deft and self-assured than Lorenz had imagined. 

And he knows him well, apparently. However long these two have been together, Sylvain has learned to touch him perfectly, to make him fall apart with just a few caresses. He kisses his older self with growing abandon as Sylvain's hand strokes him faster. It feels like sparks shoot under his skin, and still seems remarkably un-dreamlike, though again he's decided not to wake up just yet, if that's what this is.

"Goddess, babe, this is so hot." The words are a dazed mumble as Sylvain watches the two of them kiss each other. 

Lorenz's older self laughs low in his throat and rolls his hips down on Sylvain. It's showy and self-assured and playful, and Sylvain answers with a groan and a tight grip with his other hand on older Lorenz's pale hip. 

"You seem a little distracted, love. Let me." Older Lorenz's voice is breathy but teasing, and a spirited little glance snaps between him and Sylvain. They are so _fond_ , so easy; Lorenz is quivering under the sensation of two hands on him but even he can see the connection between them. 

Older Lorenz's hands are—well, it's like kissing him had been. They are his hands, and yet they are not. There are dark fissures made from repeated spells, and the occasional imperfection. They are more than made up for by the deep, certain knowledge of what pleases Lorenz best, and it sends him hurtling toward the brink at breakneck speed, all bitten lips and breaths cut short.

Oh no, oh, he'd failed to anticipate Sylvain's filthy mouth— _why_ had this not occurred to him? Lorenz has every intention of holding out just as long as the other two, but Sylvain curls close to him and lets a string of what can best be characterized as affectionate filth stream forth. The three of them are pressed together, and the graceful fingers stroking Lorenz defty follow the rhythm of the bodies of the other two as they move. 

Lorenz is gasping, and Sylvain keeps murmuring. 

"You're gorgeous, you're beautiful, you're perfect, goddess fuck there's _two_ of you…" Hot breath fans against Lorenz's skin, and the little break in Sylvain's voice makes him throb.

"Oh, darling. I'm close." 

Lorenz tentatively drifts his hand down his double's stomach, lingering in pale purple strands before stroking his older self's hardened, leaking length. Older Lorenz moans and arches backward, without losing his own grip on Lorenz. 

When they complete the circuit, Sylvain makes a noise through gritted teeth that sounds something like "fuck," and drives up harder. The muscles he's grown? always had? visibly tense and flex under the gasping man in his lap. 

Lorenz reaches a point where he's not going to be able to compete or keep up with them, or whatever other odd idea he has about himself in relationship to the two in his bed. He's aching to come, his skin pulsing and balls pulled up tight. He leans into every touch and his body begs for the next. 

Unexpectedly, Sylvain curls forward and kisses him, hard, fucking up into Older Lorenz at a furious pace, making him make quite enough noise to wake the dormitory.

But Lorenz doesn't care, as his body clenches and a wave of pleasure sweeps through him. His eyes roll back and he thrusts into older Lorenz's palm, grabbing Sylvain's hair with his free hand and stroking his older self with the other. 

He feels hot wetness shoot across all of them, and some trickles down his own fingers. He runs his fingers all over the head even as he feels a slippery touch on his own, and the two of them share a laugh, a small groan, another laugh. 

Sylvain has come as well, it seems, by his flushed skin and slowing rhythm and the blissful expression on his face, head thrown to one side. He's beautiful; lips dropped open and the cords of his neck standing out. Lorenz feels almost shy looking at him like this. 

They flop back into a sticky, exhausted tangle, and Sylvain starts laughing now, a deep, rich chuckle shaking the bed. Lorenz is too sleepy, suddenly, to be properly petulant, but still says, "What?" and blinks at him.

"Wait. So is _that_ the first time I kissed you?"

Older Lorenz gives Sylvain a catlike grin. "Technically, I suppose. Though it wasn't really _you_ , yet, so I think we can still count the time that you—" 

He darts a look at Lorenz. Is that what he looks like when he's smug? It's infuriating.

"Well, you know." 

Older Lorenz pillows his head on Sylvain's chest, a broad, muscular, ginger-dusted pillow, and sighs happily. 

Lorenz's bed lacks the space for three. Or so he thought. The two of them intertwine themselves in such a way that pulling him near feels effortless, and he nestles himself in surprisingly well.

Lorenz sleeps almost immediately, fond touches dropping his breaths into a slow, contented rhythm. 

When he wakes, all traces of his companions are gone, and Lorenz turns over and curls around himself regretfully. His sheets still smell of sex and his neck is still bruised when he presses into it, so it was not simply a wild dream.

He yawns, and resolves to think about it later. The lance tournament is later this morning, and he'll take all the rest he can get. _Someone_ has to show that insufferable Gautier heir, he thinks, with a confused laugh, and nods off again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
